All in the family-ATF
by Atypicall
Summary: Family ties with the mob are never agood thing
1. Default Chapter

Title: All in The Family  
Disclaimer: Thank you Mog for this wonderful universe. I don't own them. Sam is mine, but you can use her if you ask.  
Feedback: please  
Author's note: This started as an original work, but it just works so well for the guys that I figured what the hey. This is kind of angsty and ends up being mostly Sam and Ezra. Don't hold that against me please.  
//-flashback   
''- thoughts  
  
~~  
^^  
He flipped, she flipped, the bird  
And then he went to the roof  
Where his threats ring loud and clear  
Gonna jump  
Gonna jump  
Gonna die this year  
(Eve 6: On the Roof Again)  
^^  
  
"This is five-card-stud gentlemen. One Eyed Jacks are wild and the Suicide King kills the hand. The ante is ten dollars." The cards flipped from the fingers of the dealer with incredible speed. His dexterity made the other players at the table nervous, for they were playing for big money, and a card sharp could easily steal ten grand or more in a single hand.   
  
The dealer at the head of the table did little to reassure them. He was the picture of confidence, leaning back in his chair with an almost defiant ease, his eyes casting lazily over the others at the table. When he smiled a gold tooth glittered. They had been assured by Conklin that the man was honest, but then he was trying to take their money just the same. Conklin had a disturbing habit of taking young up and comers in the criminal world under his wing, and this one that was dealing was just the same.  
  
"Who would like to open?" Emerald green eyes danced.  
  
A woman stood behind Conklin, draped over him like some odd exotic fur. A mass of wavy copper hair rested on one side of his chest, while her fingers caressed his shirt. The way she stood, and the low cut black dress that clung to every curve of her body assured that if someone wasn't looking at his cards they were looking at her.  
  
Three other men besides Conklin and his protégée were seated around the table. All were dressed impeccably well, a myriad of high priced designers, silk and satin. The room was dim to the point of being dark and smoke from expensive Cuban Cigars drifted like tiny rain clouds. The men sipped Brandy from wide bottomed glasses.  
  
Two guards flanked the door, a precaution to make sure that no one would get in uninvited. The hotel did not usually let out its rooms for gaming, but Conklin had enough money to throw around that they made an exception. 'Cocaine', the emerald eyed dealer mused, 'certainly is a profitable venture.'  
  
The men began to throw chips into the growing pot in the middle of the table. "Two please Evan," Conklin asked. Evan Stransky a.k.a. Ezra Standish tossed his boss two cards off the top of the deck. He wasn't interested in swaying the outcome of the game yet, although he fully intended to make himself some profit during the course of the evening. He would let the cards fall as they pleased, at least for the first few hands.   
  
"Our sixth member may be a bit tardy tonight gentlemen. Apparently he had some trouble getting in at DIA. No matter, for we can discuss our business just as well before he arrives. I call."  
  
The men lay their cards face up on the table. A tiny, ruddy faced 'importer/exporter' named Ramirez from Columbia won with two pair. The mans' seedy, black eyes swept from person to person as he scooped in the chips. Ezra thought he looked something like a rat.  
  
Conklin on the other hand, was what could be politely called a robust gentleman. Conklin was only two inches taller than Ezra at six feet, but outweighed him by a good deal more than one hundred pounds. His face was as round as his body, with rosy cheeks that earned him the name Claus from his associates. The man always sweated profusely, even in the coldest of air conditioned rooms, and Ezra held no envy of the woman draped about his damp frame. Conklin was an abundantly cheerful man, with a booming voice and thunderous laugh. Although, he was said to have a temper hot enough to make Pompeii blush, but no one at the table had seen it. He was also an incredibly frequent gambler, which is where and how they had all gotten involved with him in the first place.  
  
It started a month or two earlier, when the Denver ATF had first heard that Conklin was well on his way to beginning a nationwide drug cartel that stretched from LA to Chicago to New York. The ATF, for obvious reasons, wanted in on the ground floor. And for a job of such importance the men upstairs wanted only the best, which is why they got Team Seven. Chris Larabee and his cohorts had an incredible knack for what they did, even though they appeared like a bunch of rowdy children to the untrained eye. Team Seven was a group of misfits, and they worked surprisingly well that way.  
  
Chris Larabee himself was a rogue, never playing by the rules, and yet never straying far enough across the line for anyone to call him on it. He was the leader. Vin Tanner was the sharpshooter, and ex-bounty hunter from Texas who barely qualified as a high school grad. Buck Wilmington was a womanizer in every sense of the word, always staying one step in front of a sexual harassment suit. JD Dunne was a young dynamo; an electronics whiz kid with puppy dog eyes. Josiah Sanchez was a profiler, who at one time was a preacher. He was the father figure. Nathan Jackson was a chemist and ex medic, the calming voice in a roomful of shouting. Ezra Standish was the loner, ousted from his last position in the FBI and unequivocally the best undercover agent anywhere. And then there was the newest addition, Samantha Hunter, a born and raised jewel thief before turning informant for the CIA and meeting up with the Seven one ill fated April morning.  
  
//  
The ATF team set Conklin up perfectly. The man often visited the Blackhawk casino just outside the city limits, and the ATF agents took the liberty of following him there.   
  
At the craps table Conklin was losing badly. He seemed red under the collar and refused to leave, although he had already blown more than ten thousand dollars. He tossed his dice around his palm, concentrating before his next throw, when someone bumped him from behind. The dice had dropped from his grasp to the floor. He bent to retrieve them, but another hand reached them first.   
  
Conklin found himself staring into the deep hazel eyes of a beautiful woman. She smiled and handed him the dice, a new set to replace those she had palmed moments earlier. Her eyes never left his. She held the man's hand for longer than was necessary, blowing on the dice. "For luck," she purred before vanishing in the crowd.  
  
Sam had played her part to a 'T', switching the normal dice for two weighted ones. Conklin rolled a seven and cashed in on his two thousand dollar bet. He left one of his men to collect his chips from the smiling black man at the head of the table. Nathan deftly pocketed the dice and produced two more, regular and fair. Conklin went after the woman.  
  
He found her playing Black Jack, and losing. She was down to her last ten dollar chip. "Let me help to augment your funds," he offered.  
  
Sam shook her head. "I couldn't allow you to do that." Conklin's pudgy face fell. Sam grasped his forearm and laughed softly, "But you could buy a lady a drink. My name is Sarah Hardman," she offered her palm.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you Ms. Hardman. My name is Roger Conklin and I believe you may very well be my lucky charm."  
  
Two martinis and an hour later, Sam and Conklin left the casino. The plan was working as well as could be hoped. Man and woman parted ways, much to Conklin's disappointment. Sam was nearing her car when two dark figures materialized in front of her. One held a gun and the other grabbed her, snaking an arm around her waist and throat.  
  
"Give me your purse," the huge giant with the gun demanded.  
  
"You gotta scream Sammy," the other one murmured.  
  
"I don't want to scream Buck."  
  
"This won't work unless he turns around, and for that you have to scream. Now swallow you feminist principles and just do it already."  
  
With a roll of her eyes Sam let out a blood curdling shriek. Conklin and his two bodyguards turned and in a flash were racing back toward her. The two guards coming faster than Conklin, who ran with a sort of bow legged waddle. Buck dropped Sam and leapt on the nearest guard. Josiah, the second masked assailant, lunged at the other. They proceeded to whip on Conklin's men like they couldn't fight back.  
  
Then a third man appeared to join the fray. He was smaller in height and stature than both the attackers and Conklin's protectors, but held his own just the same. The man with gleaming green eyes sent the would be muggers scurrying on their way.  
  
Conklin kneeled down beside the weeping Sam. "Are you all right my dear?"  
  
"I think I will be Roger, now that you're here." Sam buried her head in his chest, biting her lip to elicit real tears and in an effort to stop herself from laughing hysterically. The whole situation was an absurd cliché, but it seemed to be working nonetheless.  
  
A black limo screeched around the corner of the parking garage. Conklin waved to the man who had run off the muggers. "In here, quickly!" The three jammed inside and the limo sped off.  
  
"Thank you for your assistance sir. My help seems to be rather inept at the job they were hired to perform. You, on the other hand, quite selflessly rushed to help, and for that I am grateful. You name sir?"  
  
The man smiled broadly, revealing the edge of a gold tooth. His eyes lit up when he smiled. He reached across the space between the seats. "My name is Evan Stransky."  
  
"And I am..."  
  
"Roger J. Conklin," Stransky supplied. "I know who you are sir. I'm just glad that I could be of service to you and your lovely lady friend."  
  
Six men were crammed inside a generic looking black van that sped along behind the window. One was still dressed like a dealer at the casino and two others were busy shedding their ill fitting black jumpsuits. A young man with wavy black hair was seated behind a console. The man in front craned his head around, "Well?"  
  
JD removed the headphones from over his ears and flashed a thumbs up. "I'd say they're in."  
//  
  
That had just been the beginning. Ezra quickly rose in the ranks of Conklin's men to become a well trusted associate. He accompanied Conklin everywhere and was even given a vice presidential position in the man's more legitimate technologies business. Conklin made himself well known through the launching of his satellite and the selling of imagery, but drugs made him his real money.  
  
Sam left his side only for brief periods at night and whenever she could lose the guards Conklin had follow her. She played dumb, rarely speaking except to whisper in Conklin's ear, but she listened to everything that he said, and made mental note of important dates and new clients. Documents passed through his hands a hundred times in a day, and clinging to his shirt tails, Sam was never far behind.  
  
Four hands into the game Ezra went to work. He used his dexterity with cards to steer the game in the direction he wanted it to go. He had a sense of where every card was in the deck and used the skill to his full advantage dealing straights and full houses from the middle of the deck. Only someone who was watching especially closely would be able to tell that he was cheating, and even then, spotting the sleights of hand would prove tricky.  
  
Sam watched Ezra deal with rapt attention. Her fingers itched to play a hand against the wily southerner, but she was stuck, masquerading as a glorified concubine and not entitled to play.  
  
As Ezra dealt favor to the different players, he also extracted information. Where were they located? How and when would they be able to establish a system of bringing the drugs to market? How did Ramirez plan to sneak the goods into the country? Information that was being parlayed via wireless mike to the rest of the ATF team parked in a van across the street from the hotel.  
  
An hour into the game there came a knock at the door. After some muffled conversation between the two hoods, a sixth player was let into the room. He was an older gentleman, perhaps in his mid fifties, with dark hair that grayed at the temples. He walked in with an air of casual defiance, as if daring someone to question his presence. Ezra observed him carefully, trying to place a name with the face. Sam shrank away from Conklin for the first time that night, shrouding herself in the shadows that played along the fringes of the room.  
  
"Mr. Scarpelli!" Conklin boomed with his usual enthusiasm. "So glad that you were finally able to join us. Please sit. We have much to discuss."   
  
The man nodded agreeably. "Thank you Roger, but please, call me Tony."  
  
The two men shook hands and took their seats. Sam sidled forward again, whispering into Conklin's ear. He nodded and kissed her cheek. Sam fled the room, hurrying past the new arrival without looking at him. Ezra watched her go. "Excuse me for a moment gentleman." No one noticed him leave; they were too enthralled talking about arrangements that needed to be made.  
  
**  
"Shit. Shit, shit, shit," she cursed quietly. Sam pulled the small pin that was attached to her collar and palmed it. She didn't want anyone in the van to hear her mumbling. A tiny voice buzzed in her ear.  
  
"Sam? Sammy we lost the feed," Buck's voice filtered into her ear. "Are you still in with Conklin?"  
  
With a sigh, she unclasped her fingers and held the pin close to her lips. "Everything is fine Buck. I just need a minute. The smoke from those cigars irritate the hell out of my eyes."  
  
Curiosity quelled, silence once again reigned. Sam leaned against the wall of the hallway. She needed time to collect her thoughts. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something peaceful, like rain, or seeing Ezra landing face down in a pile of manure.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
The pleasant image of Ezra sputtering, and wiping manure off his thousand plus dollar suits fled her mind. She opened her eyes and nearly jumped, startled to see the real life person. "What's up?"  
  
"Why did you run out?"  
  
"The smoke was bothering my eyes."  
  
He pursed his lips. "Right. You were spooked Hunter. I want to know why."  
  
"It's nothing Ezra."  
  
"It's something. The second Scarpelli came in you had a desperate need to leave. You know him don't you?"  
  
Sam raked her tongue over the front of her teeth, a nervous habit she'd developed in the last few months. "It was a long time ago." Ezra crossed his arms in front of him. "Scarpelli was a family friend and part of the mob in Chicago. He taught me everything I know, knew about being a thief. He took me in after my parents died."  
  
Ezra groaned. "Damn it. Do you think he recognized you?"  
  
"I don't think he saw me long enough."  
  
"You think he will recognize you?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Come on Sam." He placed a hand on her arm.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Well guess," he yelled.  
  
Sam tore her arm from his grasp. "Probably yeah."  
  
"This is a big problem Hunter."  
  
"You think I don't know that? Shit Ezra, it's two months of work, two months. He didn't get a good look at me. If I can get Conklin out of there and up to his hotel room than we are fine, for tonight at least. Let's get through tonight and we'll figure out what to do about Scarpelli tomorrow. Okay?"  
  
"Okay. I shall head back to the room. Follow in a few minutes. Get Conklin out of there as fast as you can and I'll try to keep the others distracted. Chris isn't going to be happy about this."  
  
"When is Chris happy about anything?"  
  
**  
  
Ezra held up his end of the bargain. The men at the table were far too entranced by the mans' hands to notice Sam slip quietly back into the room. She trotted over to Conklin, giving his a light kiss and saying something into his ear. A flush rose on the man's neck and he grinned wildly. Sam wiggled her eyebrows and left once again.  
  
"Gentlemen." The men stopped watching Ezra pulling card after car per request of those around him. "The night has gone must more quickly than I had anticipated. Why don't we stop here for tonight and resume our discussions tomorrow. Mr. Scarpelli has to get settled in his room after all."  
  
The suggestion was met by some confused mumblings, but no one seemed distressed enough to object. Conklin and the others rose and shook hands. Ezra collected his considerable winnings.  
  
The men dispersed, scurrying off to tend to other pressing matters in their business. Conklin hurried up to his suite on the tenth floor. Ezra headed toward the parking garage, but doubled back in the stairwell and headed outside toward the lonely black van hidden in the night.  
  
--  
  
"How do you think it's going?" The question wasn't directed at anyone in particular, so everyone seemed to have an answer.   
  
"Well, they haven't shed each other's blood yet," Vin supplied.  
  
"Always a plus," Nathan grinned.  
  
"Yeah, they work pretty well together considering that they're at each other's throats most of the time." JD fiddled with some knobs on the TV screens in front of him. "You got that feed ready Buck?"  
  
"Sure kid, it'll be up in two shakes of a lamb's tail." The screens blinked to life. The picture was fuzzy and in black and white, but useful nonetheless to see into Conklin's hotel suite. Buck and Vin had trooped in and set the cameras up while the Poker game was under way. They could see Sam hovering near the bedside table. "You all right in there darlin'?"  
  
"I'll be fine once I get out of here," Sam responded gruffly. "Did you get the cameras up?"  
  
"You're looking into one right now Sammy. Wave hello."  
  
"You know the reason I signed on with you was not to play eye candy to a fat guy with too much money. Are you sure this stuff will knock him out Nate?"  
  
"As sure as I am that Ezra cheated at cards tonight. All you gotta do is mix it up in his drink. Should take effect within a few minutes. He'll be out for hours and you'll have time to search his suite."  
  
The van door slid open. It was Ezra. The undercover agent poked his head inside, eyeing the cramped space warily. He wedged himself between Vin and Buck. "How is our nefarious comrade faring?"  
  
"You nefarious comrade is fine Ez," Sam snapped. Her words sounded harsh to the others in the van.  
  
Buck nudged Ezra with his elbow and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Two of you having a love spat huh? Too bad, you two are such a sweet pair."  
  
"Sweet pair?" Josiah snorted. "Those two are the original odd couple."  
  
"Mutt and Jeff," Vin supplied.  
  
"Abbot and Costello," JD grinned.  
  
"Sonny and Cher," Buck quipped.  
  
"Hey," Sam's voice crackled over the COM. "At least I don't have to be the short, ugly one with no talent." Six of the seven laughed heartily.  
  
Ezra had a dark look on his face. "Oh yes, you are a regular laugh riot. Ha ha ha."   
  
A moment later the easygoing mood was shattered. Conklin had arrived back at his suite. He sent his two bodyguards down to wait in the lobby. Sam met him full of smiles. "I brought you a drink. Scotch on the rocks."  
  
Conklin took the drink and nuzzled Sam's neck. The look of utter dismay and disgust that crossed her features was unmistakable. Vin chuckled softly. "Ten bucks says she knocks Conklin on that fat butt of his before Nate's potion has a chance to work."  
  
"I'll take that bet," Buck reached across Ezra to shake Vin's hand.  
  
Chris rolled his eyes. "Speaking of money," he paused, "hand over the cash you won Ezra." Ezra responded without complaint, drawing a considerable stack of bills from his breast pocket. Chris looked the stack over critically. He placed the cash in an evidence bag and held out his hand once more. "All of it."  
  
"Mr. Larabee," Ezra exclaimed. "Are you implying that I would withhold evidence for my own fiscal purposes?"  
  
"No Ezra, I don't think you would withhold evidence. But I do think you might be tempted to overlook a thousand or two either way."  
  
"I take umbrage with that sir."  
  
"Please Ezra, you take umbrage with everything," Nathan scoffed. "Just give Chris the cash." Grumbling quietly, the reticent agent handed over another, smaller stack of bills.  
  
Meanwhile, Conklin had settled himself on his plush, king sized bed. He kicked off his shoes and slipped his tie over his head. He started to unbutton his shirt and the men in the van heard Sam let out a small whimper. Conklin yawned. Sam made her way to him slowly, tauntingly, and by the time she reached the foot of the bed, Conklin was fast asleep. "Thank God. Ugh, he looks like a beached whale. No offense Chris, but be glad that Nathan's potion works. There was no way I was sleeping with that man, I don't care how important the bust is."  
  
The corner of Larabee's mouth twitched, curving up in the barest hint of a grin. "Then I guess we both got lucky Sam. Now, Ezra said that Conklin mentioned something about a safe. Think you can get into it?"  
  
"Is Ezra's suit Verssachi?"  
  
"It's Armani actually."  
  
"Whatever, same thing. Let's see, let's see." Sam ran her hands along the wall of the hotel room, murmuring incomprehensibly under her breath. Ever so often she would rap her knuckles against the wall. She finally stopped next to a small picture of the Rockies. "Bingo." She pulled the frame away from the wall to reveal a small safe set six or seven inches into the wall. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly.  
  
"What is it?" Vin asked.  
  
"It's nothing. Just, for all this hotel claims about its security, they don't spend much for quality wall safes. Nowadays most safes haves an electronic lock to boost the safety of the standard combination lock, but this one doesn't. And the combination lock is just plain cheap. Take a hammer to it and its bye bye money. When all this is said and done, I have to speak with hotel management."  
  
"Just open the safe will ya?"  
  
Sam leaned into the safe, placing her ear against the icy metal. She spun the lock slowly, listening intently for the tumblers to click into place. "Ta da." She reached into the dark confines and pulled out four large stacks of money. Then she held two, leather bound files up to the camera.   
  
Sam sat down behind the desk and began to pour over the files. She whistled. "Our boy here is in some serious debt. That satellite he put up cost him millions, and he had to borrow most of it. Unfortunately, his specs are pretty much obsolete so people stopped buying form him. There are two threatening letters from loaners who don't sound like they're from a bank. Looks like he's been cooking the books for more than a year."  
  
"He's stealing from his own company?" JD sounded puzzled. "Why would he do that when he's already in debt?"  
  
"Think about it Mr. Dunne. Conklin puts the satellite up three years ago. At the time, his imaging system was the finest available for public use. But the technologies companies in Colorado are booming and no one is using Conklin anymore. He has some rather dangerous people breathing down his neck for funds that he does not posses. So what does he do? Embezzle a few thousand here and there and hope to score big at the Poker tables. Unfortunately, our Mr. Conklin is about as good a gambler as he is a businessman."  
  
"No kidding. He dropped twenty grand at the blackjack tables last week."   
  
"Well, that explains his gambling habit."  
  
Sam closed the first folder and set it to the side. Then she opened the second folder. "Pay dirt."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Shipping orders. A plane is coming in next Thursday at Stapleton. Conklin has it signed off as a business expenditure. Know where the plane is coming from?" Sam didn't wait for anyone to actually guess. "Mexico. The plane will stop at Mexico International to refuel. It started in Columbia. Conklin has trucks shipping out all over the country in the days following its arrival."  
  
"You're beautiful Sammy," Buck crowed. "We got him."  
  
"All right guys I am out of here. I'll just leave a little note for Conklin. You were wonderful, Love Sarah. The man's ego is so huge he'll probably buy it too."   
  
"That's just plain cruel Sammy."  
  
"Why Buck? Has it happened to you before?" she teased. Samantha had jus finished replacing the last file when there was a knock at Conklin's door. The men in the van saw Sam freeze. "What do I do?"  
  
"Open the door maybe? You know, just a thought," Ezra commented dryly.  
  
"Oh yeah that's perfect. And what do I say? 'Oh really you can just ignore the fact that Conklin is near comatose half naked on the bed.'" She snapped. The knocking came again. "Oh God. I have to risk it."  
  
Sam took a few tentative steps toward the doorway. The hair on the back of her neck bristled and she felt goosebumps raise up the flesh of her arms. She opened the door slowly. Her knees nearly buckled when she saw who stood in the passageway. Scarpelli, a look of surprise and recognition on his face, stared right back.  
--  
"Who is it?" Chris pressed. He clambered out of his chair in the front of the van and tried to squeeze into the back so that he could see the monitor. His elbow dug into Vin's back.  
  
"I can't tell Chris," JD answered. "The door and Sam are blocking the camera's angle. Sam, move a little to the right. Sam?"  
--  
It took a moment for the shock to pass and for Sam to start breathing again. She heard JD squawking in her ear, but she ignored him. The aging mobster opened his mouth to say something when Sam gave a tight shake of her head. She knew the door was blocking the camera so she mouthed the word, 'bugged.' Scarpelli nodded in understanding and stepped further away into the hall. Swallowing the lump in her throat Sam followed, shutting the door behind her. She pulled the broach from her neck and crushed he tiny transmitter in her hand. She just hoped that Chris wouldn't kill her when he found her.  
--  
Static. That's all there was, static. From nearly the moment Sam stepped outside the feed had been cut off and been replaced by irritating white noise. Chris was fit to be tied. "What the hell is she doing?"  
  
"I don't know Cowboy. Maybe if you moved your damned elbow me and the boys could find out," Vin grunted.  
  
"Right. Nathan, Josiah, check the casino. Buck and JD, go search the lower floors. Vin, Ezra you're with me. I want to know what the hell is going on, and I want to know now. Let's go."  
  
--  
  
"Damn it Tony drugs? I never thought you'd be in for that?"  
  
"I could say the same thing for you Bella. But somehow I get the feeling that we're not playing for the same team anymore." The man with graying temples walked slowly, with a jerking limp aided by his cane. He seemed so old to Sam, like age had struck him suddenly in the night, leaving an old man where once was a vital, authoritative figure.  
  
Sam stopped dead in her tracks. "You know?"  
  
"I've heard rumors. You disappear for ten years, popping up here and there with different organizations, always leaving before they get busted. It doesn't take long for your family to figure that you switched sides."  
  
"I never belonged in that world Tony and you know it."  
  
He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. "You had everything it took to be the best. You were my prized pupil."  
  
Sam smiled softly. "As I remember it I was always second best."  
  
Scarpelli clucked his tongue. "All that talent gone to waste. You could have been the best Sammy, but you didn't want it enough. You always wanted the straight life. A shame."  
  
"Not such a shame from my point of view Tony. I never wanted to be what you are. I never wanted the legacy my parents had to leave me. Do you realize that here, for the first time in my life I don't have to be careful? I don't have to watch my step. I like the straight life."  
  
"Had you stayed everything would be different. None of the petty bickering, because you would have started just where they left off."  
  
"I was just a kid. I wasn't ready for that. You knew it then and you know it now. It was never for me. I have friends here and I like it. And I like my job. And right now my job says that I have to turn you in, but you're still family. Get out now and I'll let it go. No one will ever have to know about it."   
  
Scarpelli looked Sam up and down, like he was scanning her. "So loyal, even after so many years. Why Bella?"  
  
"I owe you Tony. You're family. You took me in after my parents died. You were great after..." the words stuck in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes.  
  
Tony slung an arm over her shoulders. "Forget it Bella."  
  
"How can I forget? How? It was meant for me Tony, me."  
  
"You should not concern yourself with matters of the past that you could not control."  
  
"Shouldn't, but do."  
  
"And now? Will you turn me over?"  
  
"Not if you leave right now. If you stay Tony I can't protect you. Please go." She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled gently. "I'll get you to the parking garage and then split. Come on, we have to hurry. Vin's like a damned blood hound when it comes to finding people. We won't stay lost for long." She half dragged the man to the service stairs.  
  
Scarpelli hobbled down to the first landing and stopped suddenly. Sam spun around to face him her eyes wide and desperate. He pulled a phone from his pocket. He hit the 'redial' button. "It's me," he stated simply. "I'll need you to meet me with the car in the parking garage. Don't ask questions, just do it." He pocketed the phone and smiled. "Now we can go on."  
  
The door leading into the second level of the underground parking garage flew open with such force that it hit the wall and chipped. A small dark car sat idling a few hundred yards away. "Run," Sam told him.  
  
"What?"   
  
Sam heard the elevator moving behind them, bringing someone down. "Move really fast Tony. I'll see you around."  
  
"AS long as it doesn't take another ten years."  
  
The elevator was only a single floor above them now. "Promise. Now go." Scarpelli scurried away. The elevator doors slid open. Time seemed to suspend, like everything was going in slow motion. Buck and JD stepped off the elevator. A man stepped out of the sedan.   
  
Sam's gaze shot back and forth between the two. Buck saw her. Then she looked for Scarpelli, her eyes sweeping over the young man by the driver's side door. He was tall, topping out at a little over six feet and had short blonde hair. His jaw was wide and square, with piercing ray eyes. The recognition hit her just before she realized that he had pulled a weapon.  
  
Buck's cry was lost to her, seeming distant. He too, pulled his gun. He raised it at the young man at the car. Scarpelli was just climbing in the back. Without thinking for more than a split second Sam stepped directly in Buck's path, her arms stretched out to either side. "NO!"  
  
Buck's gun hand jerked up, shattering his aim. The sedan sped away from the scene. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. She watched the car speed away. "Sam!" The stringent cry broke her from her reverie.  
  
"What?"  
  
"What the hell were you doing? Who were those men? And why in tarnation did you let them go?" Buck ranted on, a crimson flush rising up from under the collar of his shirt. JD looked puzzled.  
  
Sam looked from Buck to JD and back. "Those men have nothing to do with the case. They were ghosts and now they're gone." She pushed past the confused agents. She walked firmly, her back straight and her head held high, but at the same time, icy fingers of doubt seized her heart.  
  
Mad didn't cover it. Furious was an understatement. Chris Larabee was livid. Sam yawned. "Hunter, I don't know what the fuck you were thinking, but you just broke every rule in the god damned book. Do you realize that you put this whole operation in jeopardy? We abandoned everything to go looking for you. Now I want an explanation."  
  
Sam blinked slowly. Her mind wandered, drifted back to happier times in her life. Her mind felt dulled. Her watch said that it was pushing two AM. "I can't give you one."  
  
Larabee glowered. An animalistic growl rose in his throat, but for once his famed temper was not striking fear. The feeling of being ignored was disconcerting. "Your report, my desk, you, my office ten O'clock tomorrow morning. Now go home." Sam obeyed wordlessly.  
  
The office was dark. One by one the agents of Team Seven filtered out of the office. Soon, only Chris and Ezra were left. Ezra remained silent, packing papers into his briefcase. To the casual observer it might seem as if Ezra was completely at ease, but Chris knew better. There were the telltale signs of his undercover agent's agitation. Ezra lowered his eyes just a little, fidgeted with his cards, and a telltale muscle flexed convulsively in his cheek whenever he was nervous. Chris noted that at the moment he was doing the first and third on the list.  
  
Larabee cleared his throat. Ezra looked up. "You know something I don't Ez. I don't like that. What happened there tonight? I need to know."  
  
--  
  
"How long have they been in there?" Vin asked.  
  
"An hour and ten minutes," JD replied smoothly. The electronics technician sat hunched beside the door to Larabee's office, pressing his ear into the wood.  
  
"And he hasn't stopped yelling yet?"  
  
JD shook his head solemnly. "Oh, wait. I hear a break in conversation. Maybe now we'll hear Sam talk and get some answers."  
**  
He had to stop. His throat was parched. Chris reached for the glass of water on his desk. He had spent the last hour berating Sam's flagrant violations of protocol and the needless risks she had taken with their operation. Throughout all of it Sam stood quietly, eyes staring forward.  
  
"Do you have anything to say for yourself Sam?"  
  
"You have my report," she answered quietly.  
  
"Anything other than what's in here?"  
  
A shimmer ran through her eyes and her mouth tugged up in a smile. "You know you have this little vein in you forehead that just goes wild when you yell."  
  
"Don't joke Hunter. You're playing with your job right now. Only reason I don't can your ass on the spot is because Ezra told me about Scarpelli." Sam's surprise must have shown on her face. "It was Scarpelli wasn't it?"  
  
She nodded mutely after a moment. "Care to explain?"  
  
"You'd have done anything for Sarah or Adam, wouldn't you?" Chris nodded tightly. "Well Scarpelli is part of my family, and I'd do almost anything to help him. I warned him, that's all."  
  
"Are you blood related?"  
  
"No. Look, it's like this. You know the Chicago crime family?"  
  
"Sure, they fell apart when I was still in homicide. I know you said your parents were part of it."  
  
"Well, actually they were...well they were more than just part of it. I mean, they had a little more clout than I led you to believe."  
  
"How much more?"  
  
"Um, well, ya see," Sam cocked her head to the right. Her eyes half closed and her brow furrowed in thought. "A lot. They weren't just in the mob see? They sort of, were the mob."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You have to understand Chris, that back before my parents were married there was no crime family. There were just a bunch of hoods and cons and two powerful forces in the strongarm market. My mother and father banded everyone together into one faction. You all wondered how I knew so much about the Chicago crime family. My parents ran it. Scarpelli was one of their men."  
  
Sam paused. She started again when she saw Chris nod. "But some people didn't like the new organization. There was always this tension, you could feel it. I never spent holidays with both sets of my grandparents because they hated each other. The only thing that kept them from killing each other was my parents. So one night they both met up with the business end of a shotgun. Bastards killed them in our living room, and when I came home... Never did find out who did it."   
  
"It all started to fall apart after that. The thing that had kept the Chicago family together for so long was gone, and so was the allegiance. I was seventeen, and all that responsibility came to me. My brother Joey was only twelve, and my older brother Josh died the year before. My mother's family yelling one thing and my father's family another. Scarpelli took me in. That wasn't enough though. We started getting threatening phone calls. Funny thing about it though, was that I didn't want any part of it. So I had to name someone to take over. I was going to get out then, and I did, but it all fell apart anyway. My family is almost gone. They've killed each other off. Scarpelli is one of the few people I've got left."  
  
Chris cleared his throat. "I'm not sorry I did it Chris. I'd do it again. I'm only sorry that I dragged you all into my personal problems."  
  
"Your problems aren't personal any more. I'll let you know my decision in a few hours."  
  
The meeting was over. Sam exited, the door bumping into JD as she opened it. The young man stood up and grinned sheepishly. "You have brothers?"  
  
Sam ambled slowly toward the desk she shared with Ezra, JD following. "JD, my parents were Catholic mobsters. You can't possibly believe that they'd only have one child. And, do you eavesdrop on Chris often?"  
  
Vin answered for JD. "Oh no, we all switch and take turns with the interesting ones." Sam rolled her eyes.  
  
"I'm going downstairs for a workout," Sam said to no one in particular. "Tell Chris I'm in the gym if he comes looking for me." She stuffed a file into her duffel bag and headed for the elevators.   
  
Vin trotted after her. "Hold up Sam and I'll come with. I need to burn off some energy myself. That is, if you don't mind the company."  
  
Sam bumped Vin gently with her shoulder. "Of course I don't mind. I'll go change and meet you in the basement."  
  
"Sounds decent. See you down there."  
  
--  
  
The ATF's version of a gym was dimly lit and damp, with high, unpainted ceilings. The concrete, cinder block walls made the basement a good ten degrees colder than anywhere else in the building. Until just over a year and a half earlier, the gym was little more than a storage area and electrical servicing floor. Then, by way of petition, the brass had sprung for some exercise equipment to be put in, and everything else moved to storage.  
  
There were a few wrestling mats unrolled for agents to practice sparring hand to hand. A punching bag hung from the ceiling not too far from the buildings' circuit breakers. There was also an exercise bike, some free weights and a single nautilus machine.   
  
"Come on Tanner," Samantha taunted, "you can do better than that!"  
  
Vin grinned and attacked. A well aimed foot sped by Sam's stomach and she dropped to the mat, sweeping Tanner's legs out from under him. The sharpshooter landed heavily with a grunt, but was back on his feet before Sam could deliver a strike to his midsection.   
  
Sam rolled away and jumped up lightly onto her feet. "Close Tanner, but not close enough." She clucked her tongue disapprovingly, a devilish grin flitting across her face.  
  
"You're waiting me out, don't think I don't know that Sam. Well I'm not going to slip up."  
  
"Besides," Vin's voice filtered in softly, "I could always just go right to boxing. Let's see you block a jab." Vin laughed as he sent an easy fist toward Sam's face.  
  
The punch was slow, with little force behind it and under normal circumstances Sam would have blocked it easily. Unfortunately, the elevators chose that moment to arrive on the basement floor. Sam lost her focus and Vin's fist landed solidly on her nose and she pitched backward onto the mat.  
  
Vin's eyes shot open and he flinched. "Sam. Geez I'm sorry. I thought you'd duck."  
  
She propped herself onto her elbow. "No harm done."  
  
"Maybe a little. Your nose is bleeding."  
  
Sam reached up and touched the warm drop of blood rolling down from her nose. "Lucky punch Tanner."  
  
Vin grinned and offered his hand. He hauled Samantha to her feet. "I'll give you that. But Lordy girl, where's your head at? I've seen you block attacks much harder than that little jab."  
  
She wasn't listening anymore. She was staring just beyond the sharpshooter's shoulder. The blood rushed from her face and she felt a hard, twisting pull on her stomach. "Chris." Tanner turned.  
  
Chris stopped at the edge of the mat. "You're off the case Sam," he said simply.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You're off the case. You're too close to use good judgment."  
  
"Good judgment? You must be shitting me. When the hell has being close ever stopped you Larabee. Certainly not in the time I've worked for you. You need me for Conklin."  
  
"Hold you tongue Hunter. I have never impeded an investigation. We got what we needed from Conklin. You go home, and I will call you when this is all over."  
  
"There goes that little vein again. What Larabee, I strike a nerve?" Sam's eyes blazed.  
  
"GO home."  
  
She looked from Chris to Vin. Larabee's features were harsh and his eyes cold. Vin seemed mildly apologetic. "This is bullshit." She tore the sparring gloves from her hands and threw them at Chris's feet. Then she stalked past to the elevators without ever looking back.  
  
--  
  
"You know," a small hiccup, "Inez, this is very fine liquor. Whiskey?"  
  
"Vodka." The pretty bartender sighed and continued to wipe the counter. It was well past midnight and the woman had been at the bar for hours. She'd ordered first a shot, then the entire bottle. Inez could have kicked herself. She never should have given her the bottle. She'd seen enough people trying to drown their sorrows in alcohol to know the warning signs.  
  
The batwing doors to the bar, appropriately named The Saloon for its rustic pioneer atmosphere, swung open. Inez threw her towel into the air. "Thank the good Lord. Senor Standish, I am so glad you are here. I knew of no one else to call."  
  
Ezra and Vin had introduced Sam to the bar a few months earlier. She had been back a few times since then, usually with one of Team Seven. Now she sat slumped over on a stool, nursing the last shot of vodka from the bottle. Her eyes were red rimmed and she looked as though she had been crying.  
  
"Quite all right Inez. You took her keys I assume?"  
  
"Wouldn't give her the bottle unless she did. Good thing too. She's so drunk I'm not sure she can walk." The young Spanish woman tossed Sam's keys to the southerner. "What is the matter with her?"  
  
"It's somewhat of a time-consuming narrative," Ezra told her.  
  
Sam twirled in her seat. Her face split into a wide smile. "Ez!" she exclaimed. She hopped down off the bar stool and had to grab onto Ezra to remain upright. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She reeked of alcohol.  
  
"I am so glad you're here." Her words were slurred. "I was afraid I'd be alone tonight. All those nights I've been alone. Ya know...they never really bothered me but...hey! You're cute you know that? Kiss me Ez, I'm Irish. Well not really." Before Ezra could protest, Sam planted a big kiss on his lips. Ezra pushed her away.  
  
Sam stumbled back and then fell, striking her head on the wood paneling. "Ouch."  
  
Ezra sighed. "Sam you are positively inebriated. Looks like I'll get some use out of that spare bedroom after all. Come on." He leaned over and scooped Sam off the floor. "Thank you Inez." The bartender nodded.  
  
"I think I'm gonna be sick."  
  
"Throw up in my car and I'll leave your ass on the street," Ezra grumbled. "You owe me for this Hunter. You owe me big."  
  
--  
  
The next morning Samantha woke with an incredible headache. She blinked dazedly, trying to figure out where she was and exactly why the sun hurt her eyes so much. She gingerly picked at the T-shirt she wore. It was a few sizes too big and had multicolored bears marching across the middle of it.  
  
Sam swung her feet onto the hardwood floor. She stood shakily on her feet, bracing her right hand against the wall. She heard noises coming from outside. Her fingers rubbed her eyes and she walked out of the bedroom. She only hoped that she hadn't done something stupid.  
  
She stumbled into the living room, still trying to figure out where exactly she was. The apartment itself didn't help her much. Although all the furniture and trappings appeared expensive, it all seemed rather fake. Nothing seemed lived in, nothing screamed out about the personality of the renter.  
  
She stopped halfway through the room. From there she could see someone in the kitchen. He was standing at the counter shirtless, in a pair of perfectly pressed khakis. 'Well,' she thought to herself, 'at least this guy has really great shoulders. Not bad everywhere else either.'  
  
She stood there for a minute, unsure of what to do. 'Oh fuck it,' she finally thought. She padded into the kitchen and held out her hand. "Coffee."   
  
The man turned slowly. "It speaks." Sam squeaked. 'Ezra? Oh God, tell me I didn't do something really stupid!'  
  
She suddenly became very aware of the fact that the T-shirt was the only article of clothing she had on besides her underwear and that it barely hung halfway to her knees. She wasn't going to say a word about it unless he did first.  
  
He handed her a mug. The aroma of expensive espresso filled her nostrils. She took a sip. The cobwebs in her head began to clear. "Have a good sleep?"  
  
"Ez, where did I get these clothes? I never thought of you as a fan of the Grateful Dead."  
  
"I'm not. Mr. Tanner gave the offensive article of clothing my last birthday. At least someone's using it. And, I might add, you managed to change into it before passing out on my couch."   
  
'The couch!' She nearly screamed. 'Thank God for the couch!'  
  
"Have you been here all night?" She eyed him doubtfully. The clock on the wall red eight AM, and she knew the southerner well enough to know how much he loathed the wee hours of the morning. By his standards that was anything before nine. Yet there he was, fully clothed from the waist down at least and looking decently well awake.  
  
"It is regretful that I did not receive more than a few hours of respite. You make an awful lot of commotion in your sleep Hunter."  
  
Sam missed the barb. She was too busy eyeing the knife blade crease running down both sides of Ezra's pants legs. Sam shook her head. She would never understand how the man could be so perfectly pressed, all the time. "What are you doing in the kitchen? Breakfast?"  
  
"Please, I drink my breakfast. This kitchen is used only to store plates for takeout meals and brew coffee. The latter of which you may have to your heart's content. As to what task I was performing, I will have you know that I was ironing my shirt."  
  
"You iron you polo shirts?"  
  
Ezra furrowed his brow, as if saying, 'sure, doesn't everybody?'  
  
Sam sipped her coffee, brewed hot, strong, and black, just the way she liked it. She sat in one of Ezra's leather chairs, her eyes traveling back to the undercover agent every so often. Once again Ezra was bent over his shirt, ironing away. She couldn't sit still.  
  
Sam moved into the kitchen and dumped the remainder of her coffee down the sink. She eyed the scar that had formed on Ezra's side and shivered. If she never again remembered that trip into the mountains it would be all too soon. Ezra's whole body had scars though, not just where he had been shot by a murdering mad man from Chris's past.  
  
One scar ran down his forearm and another old bullet wound was on his shoulder. His back was laced with various lacerations. "How on earth did you get that many scars Ez? I mean, geez, how many times have you gotten hurt?"  
  
Ezra shrugged noncommittally. "Working within the vicinity of Mr. Larabee and the others tend to have serious repercussions with a persons health. Would you believe that before moving to Colorado I was blemish free?"  
  
"You're kidding. You got all those working with Chris?"  
  
He nodded. "Why? Have you never had the distinctive experience of being shot?"  
  
"Just the one time, and I'm not exactly eager to do it again, thank you much."  
  
"I have to admit that some of these injuries leave more of a lasting impression than do others."  
  
Sam reached out and touched the scar that peeked out from the waistband of his pants. She shuddered. "This one, I will never forget. I really thought you were dead there for a while."  
  
Ezra smiled tightly. "Yes, this one brings back some rather disturbing memories. But I am here, and I am fine. More lives than Cuervo remember?"  
  
An uneasy silence settled between them. Sam was still staring at the scar. Ezra lifted his shirt from the counter and pulled it on over his head. "I am fine," he reitewrated.  
  
Sam swallowed. "I'm gonna go get dressed." The moment was over. The two agents resumed their usual brusque presence to one another.  
  
Sam returned a few minutes later, fully dressed and incredibly ready to leave. "I'm leaving Ez." IN her hand was a crumpled newspaper. There had been a robbery the night before at a technologies building in Westminster. It wasn't so much the robbery that caught her attention as the way it had been performed. She desperately needed to leave.  
  
Ezra came out of his bedroom, fully clothed as well. "And to where do you venture next?"  
  
"I need to find Scarpelli."  
  
Ezra's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Come again? I believe Mr. Larabee warned you to stay out of this case."  
  
"I need to clear some things up. I need to find out if...Tom. It couldn't be Tom."  
  
"And who, pray tell, is Tom?"  
  
"I thought he was dead."  
  
"I am afraid that that nugget of information does nothing to relieve my perplexity," he responded dryly.  
  
"You don't understand Ezra, my parents died, and things got tense. Then I disappeared and everything fell apart. Mom's family attacked dad's and visa versa. Tom was my best friend and he's dead. I watched him die."  
  
"I went out with Tom the night before I was to announce my decision. It was rainy, it was windy and it was cold. I asked him to run ahead and start the car. I rounded the corner just in time to see it go up. It was this giant, massive fireball. I remember just staring at it for a while. The bastards had attached a bomb to the engine. It was my car Ez."  
  
She paused in her rendition to wipe away her tears. She smiled then, an odd little half smile. She took a deep breath and continued. "You gotta understand about Tommy. He was a good kid, did well in school, when he went. And he was a gifted thief. Could pick a man's pocket like no one I'd ever seen. We had all these plans. Damn it, why did I make him get the car? It was my car, they were after me. It should have been me. Tommy didn't deserve to die like that. He never hurt anyone. I loved him."  
  
"I'm assuming he died in the fire then. Was an investigation into the matter thoroughly made?"  
  
"Jesus Ez, I didn't stick around to find out. I hoofed it out of Chicago that same night. I took a cab to Scarpelli's and told him what had happened. He got me onto a bus headed out of the city with a few thou in cash. I set up in New York and got a job. No one came after me once I left. I never did make my decision, and look what happened. The family fell apart."  
  
Sam looked back down at the paper. "And this," she tapped the article about the robbery, "just screams Tom. I have to find out." Sam stuffed the paper in the back pocket of her jeans, but Ezra grabbed her arm before she could make it to the door.  
  
"You running off isn't going to help anything. You can't do it Hunter, you're a member of the ATF. Warning criminals isn't what we do. Talking to criminals in casual conversation is not what we do."  
  
Sam's eyes blazed. "What would you have me do Ezra? Those people you so callously refer to are my family. I thought Tom died because of me. Everything went to hell because of me. And now I find out that he's alive? Am I supposed to ignore the fact that everything I've believed for the last ten years is a lie? What do you want me to do?" She was yelling now, her face twisted in a horrible sneer.  
  
Ezra too, was angry. "I want you to do your job! The job you signed on for. When you agreed to take this job you cut your loyalties to everything you knew. You need to obey Chris's order!"  
  
"Oh yeah?" She fished around in her pocket for a moment. The light glinted off her badge when she yanked it from her jacket. "maybe I don't need your damned job! I won't abandon my family just because you want me to. I'll do this on my own. I quit." Sam tore her arm from the southerner's grip and stalked out the apartment door, slamming it shut behind her. Ezra just stared at the badge at his feet.  
  
End to chapter 1  
R and R if you like. Thanks for reading.  
  
  



	2. 

Chapter 2: Departure  
Author's note: more problems with Sam's family. Thanks to Mog for this universe.   
Disclaimer: the norm  
Review: please  
  
~~  
  
Ezra's eyes drooped. The Ace of diamonds fell from his grasp and slid to the floor of the Jag. He sighed quietly. He had been sitting in the damn car for more than three hours without moving. HE was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the small car and his right leg had a cramp he couldn't work out.  
  
His head jerked up moments before it would have hit the steering wheel. He took another sip from the coffee cup on the dashboard and grimaced. The Espresso had long since gone cold, and without the comforting heat of the steaming liquid the drink held little appeal.   
  
He set his cards aside and began to drum the steering wheel with his fingers. "What's with you Hunter? Why here? Why tonight?" he mumbled over and over to himself.   
  
Sam watched the technologies building with increasing anxiety. What if she had been wrong? What if it wasn't really Tom she had seen, but rather some distorted figment of her imagination. It didn't matter really; she just had to know for sure either way, alive or dead. The scene of her car becoming a massive firebomb kept running through her head. She could almost feel the heat from the flames as they licked over the frame of the classic Mustang.  
  
Losing Tom had been too much. Too much stress, too much for an already bad year. So she had run, away from her problems and away from her family. Unfortunately though, she had run from the frying pan into the fire. She had lost nearly ten years working for the CIA. She didn't expect Team Seven to understand, not really anyway, for as much as she liked them all, they weren't her family. And blood is thicker than water after all.  
  
She almost missed him, the tall, dark figure creeping away from the technologies building. She stiffened in her seat, her eyes following the man as if locked on him. She still couldn't see well enough to make out his face. He loaded his bag into the back of a two door sedan parked down the street. He started it without turning on his lights and began to coast away. Sam revved her engine and followed a safe distance behind. She didn't notice the Jag.  
  
The wove slowly through the streets of Denver, and somewhere along the way three police cars sped by in the opposite direction, no doubt responding to some silent alarm the burglar had tripped.  
  
They drove to the outskirts of the city, a neighborhood to run down to even be called a slum. All but the barest of life was left on the street. Homeless beggars huddled around fires in trash cans, having been moved away from the warm public buildings in the middle of the city. The sedan pulled in between a wrought iron gate that hung halfway off its hinges. Sam parked across the street and jumped out.  
  
She trotted into the courtyard between two abandoned apartment buildings. The dark figured moved ahead of her, a broken streetlight illuminating his back briefly. He rounded a corner. Sam moved faster.   
  
She turned the corner to find herself in a deserted alleyway. Weeds sprouted up, vines weaving their way up the crumbling brick frame. Her shoulders slumped forward. She lost him.  
  
Something hit her from behind, hard. She flew forward with a grunt, bracing her arms in front of her as she hit the wall. Her hands flew to her gunbelt and she drew the weapon with lightening speed, just as Buck had shown her. Her attacker halted. She waved him out toward the courtyard, where there was more light. She breathed quickly and felt her heart pound inside her chest.  
  
"Sammy?" The voice came from underneath the dark hood. "Is that really you?" Sam choked, her eyes filling with tears. The voice was older to be sure, but it was the same voice that she had imprinted on her memories. The man drew back the hood.  
  
Her tongue flicked out over her lips and her hand lowered. "Tom. Oh God I was right." She lifted a quivering hand to his cheek. "I don't believe it. I didn't think I'd ever find you, I gave up hope."  
  
"I guess you never thought I'd find you either," the southern accent dripped with sarcasm. He leaned casually against the brick wall. "Once a criminal, always a criminal, right Hunter?"  
  
Sam spun, raising the gun. "Ezra, you don't know what you're doing."  
  
"No my dear, I know exactly what I am doing. It is you that has no conception of your actions. Now put the gun down so that I may arrest him." His voice held no hint of jest. He seemed serious, almost sad.   
  
"Is this joker a friend of yours Sammy?"   
  
"In a manner of speaking Tom. What are you going to arrest him for Ez?"  
  
"Aiding a criminal for one. He was there in the hotel after all. Do you want me to continue? This list is quite long. Now put down the gun before you do something you may regret."   
  
Ezra held out his hand and took a step forward. He stopped suddenly when he heard the weapon being cocked. Sam shook her head. All signs of trepidation had fled her eyes. "I have come to regret a lot in my life Ez, but I can tell you right now that I won't regret this. Now back the fuck off."   
  
She nodded toward Tom, "Get out of here. I'll hold him." The lanky young man moved to go past the federal officer. Ezra shifted. "Don't think I won't do it Ez. Go Tom, now." He ran off at a dead sprint. Ezra tensed, and the shot rang through the air.  
  
--  
  
"You shot me," Ezra stated incredulously.  
  
Sam tucked her gun back into its holster and stalked past the undercover agent. "I didn't shoot you Ez, I shot at you. There is a difference. And I told you not to move." She held her hands loosely at her sides, the fight rung out of her.  
  
Ezra eyed the hole in the cinders next to his left ear. "Not by much," he muttered. "It's not like there's a tremendously large difference. An inch or two, maybe."  
  
"Than you should be glad I'm a good shot." Chris tried to move past Ezra. He grabbed her arm as she walked past.  
  
"Tell me why I shouldn't arrest you right now. Aiding and abedding a criminal. Not to mention the fact that you drew a weapon on a federal agent. Overall I'd say you haven't been very smart concerning your friends as of late." His voice was hard.  
  
"You know Ez, for a guy who was just shot, you complain an awful lot." Sam growled. She jerked her arm out of his grip and pushed him aside. Keeping her eyes open, she made her way through the courtyard toward her car.  
  
Ezra jogged to catch up with the angry woman. He settled beside her, matching her every stride. "I have my reasons Ezra, and they don't concern you." She responded to his unasked question. Sam walked a little faster. "How did you even find me?"  
  
"I tailed you genius. You weren't even looking. I'm an undercover agent. I'm trained to follow people without them noticing. And if I remember correctly, you were more than adequately trained to spot tails. So much for that little nugget of schooling."  
  
Sam bristled. Her anger began to rise. She spun to face him, her face beet red. "Do you have any idea how you sound? You lying, hypocritical rat! You claimed to trust me. Then you follow me. I think I missed the trust aspect of that scenario. Well, have fun trying to tail me now!" She was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her frustrations and anger were pouring from her.   
  
Ezra jumped as the shot shredded through one of the front tires on his car. The second shot took out the rear wheel. Ezra swore loudly. After gawking for a moment he looked for Sam. Unfortunately, she had already run across the street. She ignored Ezra's calls. Sam jumped into her car and tore down the street, tires screaming.  
  
--  
  
He was in her apartment when she got there, waiting. He had changed out of his pure black attire into jeans and a shirt. "I can't believe its really you."  
  
Sam smiled and sidled over to him. "Didn't I already say that?"  
  
"Yeah, but it deserves to be said again. Jesus Sammy, it's been so long." He stood slowly, his eyes running over her form from head to toe. One corner of Sam's mouth twitched in a half smile.  
  
He came right up to her, his arms snaking around her waist and pulling her close. She let him, and she hugged him fiercely back. She breathed in his smell, like freshly cut grass. Her eyes squeezed shut. "I thought you were dead," she murmured.  
  
"Wait," Tom sounded puzzled. He propped Sam back so that he could look her in the eyes. "Me dead? I thought you were dead."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The blast knocked me flat, and I guess I blacked out. When I came to I was in the hospital and Tony was there. He told me you were killed in the blast. I thought that was strange, because I remembered you being behind me, but everything was so fuzzy."  
  
"Tony told you that? That's insane. I went right to him after it happened. I didn't want to stick around you know, with the cops everywhere. I left Chicago right after that, and headed to New York. I wanted, something else. I figured everything would be fine."  
  
Tom shook his head. "Everything was definitely not fine. Tony took over, or at least tried to. The family was too bitter and it fell apart. No one wanted an outsider running things. No one listened to him. It would have been different if your parents had asked him to take over, but that didn't happen. I went to Europe for a few years after that, to get away from Chicago, from Tony, and from your ghost."  
  
"I am not a ghost, I'm right here. But why would he have done that? This all seems so strange to me. He knew my parents didn't want him to run the business. I want to talk to him. Do you know where he is?" An idea had trickled into the back of her mind. It was a dark idea, and one she didn't want to entertain, but one that would gnaw at her until she sought its answer.  
  
Tom nodded. "Yeah, but he'll wait."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For this." Tom leaned closer, his lips gently brushing hers. Sam's heart beat wildly. He had been her first love, and there was nothing like kissing your first love.  
  
Sam opened her mouth, but there was a sharp rap on her door. Sam groaned, letting her head fall back against Tom's chest. "Ugh, he's early. You need to hide Tom, go back into my bedroom and be quiet. Please?" Tom frowned for a moment, then nodded and moved into the darkness of the next room.  
  
He pounded on her door again. Her head felt ready to split open. "It's open!"  
  
Ezra barged into her living room. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he bellowed. Sam winced and sunk lower into her pillows. "Do you have any idea how long it took to even get a tow truck? In the meantime, the local flavor is eyeing my car like a pack of starving vultures. I ought to haul your butt into jail myself. Well? Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"  
  
"Well maybe if you could stop flapping your gums for five seconds I could get a word in. It's not like I asked you to follow me. And you know what..." Sam jumped up from the couch to face his verbal onslaught. The angry tirade she had prepared faded from her lips. "Forget it, you wouldn't believe me anyway."  
  
"Right Hunter. Isn't that convenient? I can't believe I actually trusted you, that we all trusted you."  
  
"You don't understand. Tom was my best friend, my family. I have so much to ask him, to tell him. And he's not a bad guy."  
  
"No, just a thief and a con. What does he want from you anyway? Help for some job?"  
  
"Not some job," a body materialized behind the voice. Tom had his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I love her." Sam blinked.  
  
Ezra snorted. He didn't really seem all that surprised. "You don't even know her. How could you after so long?"  
  
Tom stepped behind Sam, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. "Because I always have. And I always will. And why did you come here?"  
  
Ezra pulled the metallic object from his breast suit pocket. He held the badge loosely between his fingertips. "I came to give you this back." He set the badge on the table next to him. "Maybe when you figure out exactly who you are and what you stand for you'll be able to wear it again. Right now I don't think you know a damned thing. You're caught between two worlds Hunter and you need to make a choice. Until you do though, I don't want to see you." He nodded curtly and walked out of the apartment, descending the stairs two at a time.  
  
Sam moved away from Tom and she picked up the badge hesitantly. Two lives, one choice. Her fingers slid over the intricate lines that were edged into the metal. She swallowed hard and looked at Tom. He nodded. "I have to go now," she whispered.  
  
"I know. You're the same as always Sammy, and that's why I love you. And that's why I know you're leaving. This is it."  
  
She strode over to him and kissed him. "We're not in the same place Tom, and we don't want to be. At least we get to say goodbye this time. But do me one last favor?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
"When you go back, talk to the family. I want you to take over. Tell them my parents and I finally made our choice." She moved away, first at a walk and then faster, needing to catch Ezra before he left in his car. She jumped down the last half flight of stairs.  
  
She saw Ezra ambling slowly toward his Jag two blocks farther down the street. She broke into an unhurried jog. Then she saw what Ezra couldn't, the inky black car creeping toward him from behind. Her hands flew to her side, but she had left her weapon on her dresser. "Ezra!" She screamed at the top of her lungs.  
  
The southerner turned, but it was too late. Three men jumped from the crawling vehicle. Ezra managed to hold off one, but he was no match for all three. They hustled him into the sedan at gunpoint.  
  
Sam sprinted after them for a moment, not caring that it was pointless. The sedan tore around a curve, its tires screaming and disappeared. She stopped then, stumbling into a walk. She panted, hands resting on her knees. She stared at the point where the car had disappeared.   
  
Footsteps trotted up behind her. It was Tom. "I saw what happened. Wasn't that..."  
  
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "That was Tony's car. He did it, didn't he? He killed my parents because he wanted power and clout. He wanted to rise in the hierarchy. But even with my parents out of the way I didn't name him as their successor, so he decided to get rid of me. He thought that would be it, but he never counted on how important my parents were, did he?"  
  
Tom stared at her open mouthed. "I don't know. I mean, I never thought about it. I know he always wanted to be more important, for people to take notice."  
  
"He was a grandstander. That's exactly why my parents didn't want him."  
  
"You were his last shot Sammy. He's been a little weird ever since you left. I think he blamed you for not getting his five minutes."  
  
"And now he wants to get to me by getting to my friends. If he thinks I'm just gonna lie down while he destroys everything then he has another thing coming." She tore her keys from her pockets. She turned quickly, striding toward her car.  
  
Tom trailed after her. "Well what are you going to do? Sam?"  
  
"I'm getting my friend back. He'll have his five minutes of fame all right. Because I'm going to let every mobster in Chicago know what he did. Personally I think all the attenion's gonna kill him."  
  
"You're going to need help," Tom called after her.  
  
"I know six guys who want their shot at him. They don't like it when people fuck with their own." She jumped into the Corvette and revved the engine. Tom jumped into the seat next to her. "What are you doing?"  
  
"I know where he is Sam."  
  
"I can't ask you to betray him."  
  
Tom grinned. "You didn't ask. You'll want this." He handed her the pistol she had left in her apartment.  
  
"All right then. Dial up the ATF and tell team 7 where we're headed." The needle on the speedometer jumped to fifty and they left Westminster behind them.  
  
--  
  
A den of snakes awaited them. Scarpelli's men slithered around the building, shooting Sam dirty looks and whispering. They made her skin crawl. Although all were armed they let Sam and Tom past without a word. Sam kept her eyes forward and her head up.  
  
"Scarpelli," she boomed upon entering the warehouse. No one answered. Her voice reverberated on the empty room, with its high walls and ceiling. Hazel eyes spit fire. "Come out you spineless worm. I thought you were my friend. My parents though you were a friend. But when it comes right down to it I guess friendship doesn't hold a candle to wealth and power. My parents were good to you, you son of a bitch!"  
  
The echo faded and the air remained still. No one came out. Sam stepped forward into the middle of the room and picked up a steel pipe, swinging it with all her might against a support beam. The crash was deafening. "I know you're hear. You know you didn't have to kidnap Standish. I would have come anyway you know, just to get at you before the rest of the syndicate does. When all is said and done you're going to be very popular."  
  
A dark figure stepped onto a platform from the second floor. "Who says you're even leaving here today my dear?" Scarpelli's discourse floated down to her.  
  
"I do. Because you won't kill me like you want to Scarpelli."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"My seven friends will destroy this place, arrest your associates, and generally kick your ass. And because I'm going to kill you first."  
  
"Six friends if I have the count right," Tony corrected her. "I believe the seventh is with me."  
  
"Wrong again Tony. You forget about Tom."  
  
"Tom? Ah yes, the turncoat. You'll try to destroy me, after everything I've taught you?"  
  
Tom nodded. "You made me believe she was dead. Now where is Standish."  
  
"Right in front of you if I'm not mistaken. Come ahead and bring him out Kevin." A beefy auburn haired man shoved the small Standish into the light at the far end of the room. He looked horrible, his hair tussled and dirty, his face smeared by dirt and his general façade bloodied and bruised. His hands were tied securely behind his back.  
  
Despite his outward appearance, the undercover agent maintained a cocky attitude. "Reinforcements are on the way, I presume?"  
  
The first shot rang outside. Kevin and Tony both looked startled. "I think they're already here," she called out cheerily. "It's over Tony, give it up.  
  
"They won't penetrate my forces. It's not over till I see you bleeding out upon the concrete. The man I hired to take you out the first time did not do his job."  
  
"So that was you? I should have known. A real thief wouldn't have taken the custom jewelry. Too hard to pawn. You didn't kill me then. Now you have another shot. What are you waiting for?"  
  
"Not a damn thing. Kill them both!" Men poured from the woodwork, all carrying loaded weapons. Kevin drew a small Luger, pointing it at the back of Standish's head. Sam pulled her gun.  
  
"Ezra, get down!" Her aim was true. As Ezra dived to the side behind a stack of crates, Sam's bullet found its mark. Kevin went down hard. "Find cover Tom."   
  
Just then team Seven poured like a tidal wave into the building. Josiah and Nathan positioned themselves at the door, offering cover to their partners. JD and Buck moved as a single unit, each man protecting the other. Vin materialized on the second floor, his sniper rifle poking out between the slats of the railing. Chris made his way to Ezra.  
  
Sam's gaze was locked on Scarpelli. She fired several times, but she didn't have the angle she needed. Scarpelli fired from his advantageous perch. There was a cry behind her, and the sound of someone falling. She turned. Tom was lying behind her, hands on his chest, and looking at her with wild eyes. "NO!"  
  
Sam spun and dragged Tom behind a small wall. She pulled his hands away from his chest. Within just a few seconds the blood had covered every part of his shirt, pooling down beneath his body. His hand touched her face. "You're all we've got left now. Sorry I can't finish that favor. Guess your choice just got made for you."  
  
"I'd live with sleepless nights the rest of my life rather than this. Jesus Tom, I just got you back."  
  
"Saying hello and goodbye seems to be quite the habit with us, eh Sammy?"  
  
"I hate that habit," she managed to choke out.  
  
"I love you. Now go get him."  
  
"I love you too." His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing became ragged. She felt his heart weaken beneath her fingertips and finally stop. She swore softly. Then, wiping her tears from her eyes she loaded another clip into her weapon. She saw Scarpelli head for the stairs that led to the roof. She went after him.  
  
Team Seven whole once more, moved like a machine, sweeping through the ranks of Scarpelli's men with ease. Most were dead, arrested or pleading for mercy in the space of five minutes. Their teamwork was poetry in motion.  
  
Sam bounded up the steps two at a time. Her intent was not to capture Scarpelli, but to kill him. Never before had she tasted blood lust like she did right then. She burst out the door to the roof and scoped the area.  
  
She didn't see Tony immediately. But Tony saw her. He was ready for her. He knew she would come. He aimed his weapon at the door. Sam burst through. He fired.  
  
Sam felt the bullet tear through her knee. Her leg buckled and she crashed to the ground, her pistol skittering away from her on the roof top. Tony approached slowly. Sam writhed on the ground in agony. She forced herself to will away the pain, something she had learned to do in the hospital after being shot. She focused the pain, using the rush of adrenaline to clear her mind. Her right hand crept down to her boot.   
  
Tony looked down at his protégé. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Sam, Sam , Sam, I would have thought you would put up a better fight. So disappointing." He raised his gun, "Any last words?" Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear what she said.  
  
"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you." Sam beckoned him closer with her left hand. Tony, as cocky and sure of himself as always leaned closer. "Come again?"  
  
Sam's fingers closed around his lapels. She focused her eyes upon him and he saw a rush of pure, unadulterated hatred in them. "I said rot in hell," she snarled. Sam drove the knife upward, piercing his soft midsection. Scarpelli howled and weakened, allowing Sam to roll away and drive the knife further into his gut. The con man collapsed, wheezing as blood filled his lungs. He died there a short while later.  
  
Sam struggled to her feet, the bloody blade still clasped in her hands. She looked down at the man in disgust. "You always did talk to much Tony." With that, the blade slipped from her fingers and clattered to the roof. She turned and limped back inside.  
  
--  
  
"Hello? Hunter are you in here?" Ezra stuck his head into the apartment. Sam had been away from the office for three weeks, letting her leg heal. She was due to come back the next day.  
  
The woman appeared a moment later, still limping slightly and hefting a cardboard box. Her eyes raised to meet his. She set the box on the kitchen table. "Afternoon Ez." She stuffed a pile of clothes haphazardly into the box.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, dumbfounded.   
  
"Packing."  
  
"Well yes, I realize that. What I meant is why? Did you find someplace in the city?"  
  
She stopped then, her hands bouncing lightly on the cardboard. She couldn't look him in the eye. "No Ezra. Not in the city, at least, not in Denver."  
  
"Elaborate my dear, for I am still far from comprehension."  
  
"I'm not coming back Ezra. To the ATF I mean. Here, I was going to send it to you." She held out the billfold that held her badge. "This time it's for good."  
  
"You're quitting again? Don't you realize what a good thing you have here?"  
  
Sam pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I know that I'm about to leave the best thing that ever happened to me. And will you give this frame back to Vin. I just want the picture and I swiped it off his desk a few days ago." She held up a picture of the Seven on one of their yearly fishing trips. Ezra took the frame.  
  
"And yet you still will leave. And go back to what? If you go back everything you have done, accomplished, means nothing. Not leaving the first time, not your work in the CIA, Bartlett's pardon, it's all for naught."  
  
"I met you all didn't I? I wouldn't say that was for naught. You're the best people I've ever met. But I need to go back. I need to go back and fix what I made wrong. I can't let my family go on hating each other because I was too spineless to do anything. Try to understand."  
  
"And you were just going to leave, without a word?"  
  
"I hate goodbyes."  
  
"Well I'm not letting you go that easy. You're going to say goodbye to everyone before you leave, and hear some words against it I'm sure. We'll get everyone together at Inez's. And besides, I fear that if I am the one to tell Mr.Larabee of your departure, he may decide to kill the messenger."  
  
Sam shrugged. "Ok. But uh, would you mind getting one last box from my bedroom? It's still to heavy for me." Ezra nodded. "Thanks."  
  
The southerner went into the room, but he didn't see anything. The bed was made, and the closet cleared out. He didn't see a box. He came out after searching for a moment. "I didn't see anything Hunt...." His voice trailed off. She wasn't there. He trotted to the window just in time to see the metallic blue Corvette weave its way into traffic. His shoulders slumped.  
  
He turned back to the table. There was a note on it. He unfolded it and began to read slowly.  
  
~~This is a letter to the members of the Denver ATF's Team 7. I should be on my way to Chicago by the time you read this. Please don't think too badly of me for not saying goodbye in person. But I figured that leaving this place and all of you was going to be hard enough without having to look you in the eyes too.  
  
I can't really say what you all have meant to me, and I'm sorry that my path in life has led me away. (I figure that's philosophical enough for you Josiah.) I'll always remember you and what you did for me. I wrote this poem about you, and although I'm no Emily Dickinson, please bear with me.  
  
A broken heart  
A bleeding heart  
A heart that cannot heal   
  
A virtuous heart  
A fighting heart  
A heart that's made of steel  
  
A foolish heart  
A flirting heart  
A heart with a lover's zeal   
  
An open heart  
A loving heart  
A human heart that steals   
  
A surgeon's heart  
A healing heart  
A heart that truly feels  
  
A spiritual heart  
A knowing heart  
A heart to which you kneel  
  
A courageous heart  
A cunning heart  
A heart with an unbroken seal   
  
All these hearts  
Are human hearts  
Hearts I know are real  
  
Ezra closed the note. Then he left the apartment, turning off the light behind him. He knew that the others wouldn't be happy, but they would get through it, together, like they did everything else.  
  
--  
  
Sam left Denver the way she had come into it, zipping along I-25 with the top down and her hair billowing in the wind. She didn't know what lay ahead for her, or what could have lay behind. Her head bobbed along to rock music that blared form her stereo. And the picture of the Seven set so precariously on top of the box of clothes fluttered and caught in the wind. It sailed out of the car and settled on the asphalt of the highway, as if to beckon her to return.  
  
The End  
Sorry this was so long in coming. And I realize that this was probably not my best work, but I needed a way to write Sam out. Thanks for reading.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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